


I Want Your (Hands On Me)

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Daisy always has the best ideas, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forehead Kisses, Forehead Touching, Friendship/Love, Hands, Healing Sex, Holding Hands, Humor, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Love, Party, Psychological Trauma, Sex, Skye | Daisy Johnson's Superpowers, Slow Dancing, Touching, Undressing, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, skoulsonfest2k16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:37:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skoulsonfest2k16 - DAY 5 · 22 January: hands, guilt</p><p>Daisy and Coulson chase after the ACTU and are invited to an unpleasant and glamorous party that brings up unresolved issues.</p><p>Title from the Sinead O'Connor song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want Your (Hands On Me)

His teeth grit at the echo of his own footpath.

The room is empty.

HYDRA has already moved on. 

“Clear,” he reports into his coms, and then sighs.

“Copy that,” he hears Daisy’s voice in his ear. “We’ll secure the rest of the facility.”

They’ll tear it all apart and find a way to trace them.  It was too much to hope that they’d actually catch HYDRA in the act so soon after they took out his only way inside the ATCU.

Roz gave them plenty of intel, but it was too little.  Too late.

Mistake after mistake.  So many people compromised, because of him.

For once, he’d like to feel like he was ahead of these assholes.

“I’ll meet you back at-“

He stops when he hears another echo, a second set of shoes on the ground and lifts his weapon again.

“Mr. Coulson, I'm so glad we could finally meet in person.”

“Phil, what’s-“

Daisy is asking and he turns off his coms.  Buying time, yes, but there’s more to it than that.

He lowers the gun, staring at the bigger man across from him.

“Gideon Malick,” he says. “I'll spare you the details, but I know who you are.”

“Yes,” Malick says with a smile that’s too confident. “And I know all about you.”

That’s supposed to push a button, but he’s done with that, and holsters the gun.

“Then you know why I'm here.”

“Yes. But, I'm a little disappointed this was our first meeting,” he says, reaching inside his jacket.

“We know how this works. Talk, talk. Can we just skip to the ending?”

“Oh,” Malick answers, eyes alight. “We don’t want to get to that just yet.”

Malick pulls out an envelope from inside and takes a few steps towards him, holds it out in his hand.

He eyes it briefly, then steps forward and snatches it away.

“This warehouse is wired with explosives,” Malick mentions, watching the red dot moving up his chest.  “You should worry about your team.”

Malick looks down at the dot holding over his heart.

Daisy's team has arrived.  Right on time.

“My life’s not worth so much,” he continues with a grin. 

“And you think mine is?”

“We’ll see,” Malick says, starting to walk away.

“Stand down,” Coulson yells out, looking down at the envelope in his hand.

Wanting to crush it.

"Oh, and bring your Inhuman friends," Malick adds at the last.

 

 

It's pretty ambitious to host a party out in the open, so soon after a defeat.

Much less invite your enemy.  
  
She takes his offered hand as she steps out of the car and looks at the entrance to the elaborate estate as it drives away, circling the fountain roundabout.

“Bring your Inhuman friends?” she says to Coulson, looking down at the invitation before handing it over when they approach the guard station.

While they search her, she thinks about how they had all debated over the last 48-hours whether or not they should even be here.

Malick is obviously controlling the chessboard, and they can’t afford to look the other way.

He wanted her here.  Price’s interest in her abilities, using her as leverage against Coulson.  Malick’s plans for the Inhumans he had in stasis.

And she wasn’t about to let Coulson go in alone. He needed some muscle.

Of course, she's memorized the floor plans they were able to get a hold of, but seeing it in person is something else.

It makes her feel unsettled.  This level of wealth, like it could just swallow them and the world would forget they ever existed.

It makes Ian Quinn’s island villa look like a fixer-upper.

It’s old. HYDRA higher ups like their castles, she guesses.  Their family lineage and connections to the past.

She might start agreeing with May about this undercover business after all.

“Shall we?” Coulson turns to her as they look up at the imposing edifice, ornamented with gargoyles and steep-pitched roofs.

Everyone is dressed in black, and they’re no different, as the invitation requested.

They make their way through the wide entry, doors flung open, and avoid taking any of the food or drinks off the passing waiters’ trays and walk the large room, trying to get a good look at faces.

They’re targets, and no need to see themselves otherwise, but the people here seem to have no interest in them at all.

It’s the waiting, and it’s making her nervous.

“You seem nervous,” he says, picking up on it, as they look down on the grand entry from the upstairs balcony.

“Aren’t you?” she asks, looking him over.  All dressed up and for an occasion like this.  It seems like such a waste.

“Yes,” he admits. “Do you want a dance? Shake some of this off?”

She nods as they head back downstairs, and even though she actually hasn't done this in too long to remember, once he leads her on the floor, Coulson makes it seem effortless.

She relaxes in his arms.  In fact, she's enjoying herself for a moment and looks up at his easy smile.  
  
“This is nice.”  
  
“It’s different,” she answers.

“I might even be tempted to forget why we’re here.”  He likes dancing, she realizes.  Not just as spycraft.

“As your field leader, I do not advise-” she teases him, as he shows off a little by turning her, throwing her for a second as she tries to not step on his feet.

“Don’t overthink it,” he says gracefully, and she listens.

“You cleaned up alright,” she says, once it feels at ease again, landing her eyes on his black bowtie. 

“Just alright?” He’s looking so mock-offended, and it's charming.  It reminds her of when they first met.  
  
She hints at enough of a smile that he knows he’s going to have to work harder than that, though.  
  
“You look-“ he starts in.  
  
“Yes?” she prods when he pauses.  
  
“Beautiful,” he answers, drawing his eyes away from hers to look around the room. “Although, I don't think this is your scene.”  
  
“It's not,” she says with a jaded laugh, trying not to trip over his feet.  Is he distracted?

“Where would you? You know,” he gestures with her hand in his. “Rather be.”  
  
She mulls it over before answering, drawing in closer as the music slows. “Some place warm, where I could feel the sun. And secluded.”  
  
“You'd like to be alone?” he asks, turning his face towards hers.  
  
“I could use a little bit of company,” she says, settling her arms around his back  
  
“Campbell, I guess.”  
  
“No,” she answers. “He’s not really into relaxing so much.”  She rests her head against his shoulder. “Someone who could enjoy the quiet. Not second guess me.”  
  
“Hmm,” he tilts his head, thinking it over. “Mack, then. But can he still play Call of Duty?”  
  
“Or you,” she adds quickly, scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary. “I miss some of our silences.”

He slows down, almost like he’s stopped remembering they’re dancing and she pulls back.  
  
“Daisy.“  
  
He says it quietly, staring at her so intensely, then his eyes refocus behind hers and the color drains from his face.  
  
“Aren't you two a pretty pair.”  
  
_Ward._

How?

She reaches for Coulson’s hand and squeezes it as she turns.

He’s wearing a white evening suit and a charming smile. If you didn't know him.  Like a perfect predator.

But something is…off.  She doesn’t know how else to explain it.

His vibrations are all wrong.

“Comforting your favorite killer, I see,” Ward says, looking down at their hands entwined.

“Is that new?” he asks flippantly, focused on Coulson's hand. “You left the old one behind. The one you crushed my ribcage with? I have it,” he motions towards the far door.

“If you want it back.” He looks between them. “No?”

“You're dead,” Coulson says, finding his voice.

“That's hurtful. Do I look very dead to you?”

Coulson's face twists in rage. “You're that _thing_.”

“Manners," he tuts. "After all, we’re at this very nice party Mr. Malick is throwing in my honor. Hi, I’m Maveth,” he says affably, extending his hand.

She steps in between the two of them.

Maveth looks her up and down. “And you.  You’re quite special, aren’t you, Skye?  We should get to know each other better.”

“Or, I can kill you. Again,” Coulson snaps.

“Or I could kill you this time for not killing you all the way the first time I tried to kill you."

It doesn't capture her thoughts quite accurately, but Maveth seems appreciative nonetheless.

“Right. Don’t you want to know _why_ you should kill me first?” he sighs.  “Happy to share,” he says, then finishes off his champagne when they don’t answer.

“I know your weaknesses. For each other.  For your friends.  Everything Grant Ward knows, I know.  I’m going to use it.”

Daisy lets go of Coulson’s hand and raises it at Maveth.

She stops when she hears the sound of clicks all around them and turns to see the guests armed with loaded weapons.

“You’re Inhuman,” Maveth says to Daisy.  “But he’s not.”

His eyes fall on Coulson, on the flex of his prosthetic hand.

“I’m afraid I’ll need to ask you to leave,” Maveth says.

“You’re spoiling my party.”

 

 

When they’re locked in the safehouse, she kicks her heels off and watches him move around the room, making his checks, talking into the sat phone.

He hangs up and tosses it on the bed.

“What does Mack say?” she asks him.

“Wait 24 hours. They’ll monitor the safehouse remotely, then extract us.  We can’t risk leading HYDRA back to base.”

He eyes her for a moment, with his hand on his prosthetic, then she turns away hearing the click and the heavy sound of it being set down on something wooden.

“Sorry,” he tells her.  “I can’t look at it right now.”

The only times she's ever seen him without his prosthetic or his arm tucked away in a sling were when he had first lost it, lying in the medbay for days.

And when he came back from the alien world.  
  
She walks over to where he set it and runs her fingers across it. Black, like the one before it.  He’s still adjusting.  It's different with each new version.

She can feel his eyes watching her, frozen in mid-motion, and gives a sad smile when she finds his gaze.

There's something fearful, almost desperate there.  
  
“We never talked about it,” she offers.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Is it because-“  
  
“I didn't want to remind you,” he cuts in, sliding off his tuxedo jacket.  
  
“Of what?”  
  
“Loss.”  
  
“You could've let me help,” she says, moving to the edge of the bed, starting to slip off the black nylons she’s wearing from one leg.  
  
“I couldn’t-“ he starts, then stops.

She looks over her shoulder to see why he’s stopped and watches him look quickly away, moving to the closet to hang up his jacket.

“It wasn’t your call.  It was mine,” he continues.  “You’re already carrying enough.”  
  
“I can decide that for myself.” 

She knows she sounds bitter.  Tossing both hose next to her heels, she follows him to the closet.  “You keep pulling back.”  
  
“It didn't take you long to find a distraction.”  
  
She’s looking through the SHIELD-issue clothes inside, when she finds the sizes she wants and carries it back towards the bed.

“That's not fair,” she accuses him.  
  
“No. It's not,” he sighs, sitting down on the edge of the bed, rolling the hanging shirt sleeve up with one hand.   
  
“I don’t know what Maveth means, exactly, about our weaknesses.”  Her fingers touch beneath his chin and he raises his head to look at her.

“I know he wants us to be afraid.  We’re going to prove him wrong.  Just like we did Ward.”

 

 

A hand on her shoulder. Hers resting over his for a moment while they’re eating.

They keep touching each other, like small comforts, as they settle down for the evening.

She keeps thinking about grasping his hand back at the party, in front of Maveth.  How he had squeezed her fingers back.

He was terrified, she knows.  She could feel it coming off of him in waves.  It’s calmer now, and he’s turned inward again, getting reflective.

“I wanted things to be like they were before.”

“Before I became Inhuman,” she asks.  Him struggling to call her Daisy instead of Skye.

He looks annoyed, but then immediately regretful. “That's not what I meant,” he says quietly, turning his head on the pillow to look over at her.

They’re both laying on the bed above the covers, too wired to sleep.

He told her earlier that he liked her idea. About Maveth making Ward’s mistakes. That it’s something they could start with.

“I wanted to take care of you,” he says. “I couldn’t even stop that thing from coming back.”

She sits up and glares back at him.

“We should take better care of _each other_ , Phil,” she says as she stands up off the bed.

“Where are you-“

He drops it when she rounds the bed and heads into the small kitchenette and grabs a glass of water out of the cabinet, turns on the sink.

“And you know what else?” she says as she takes a drink. “You’re _terrible_ at compartmentalizing.”

“Fair point,” he replies, sitting up a little with a curious look.

“Stop doing that."  She shakes her head, walking back towards the bed with her glass.

“What?”

“Pretending like nothing is wrong.  When I can _feel_ it,” she says, as he gets off the bed.

“I’ve been trying, Daisy.”

“What do you mean?”

“To not make things harder. I can’t lose you.”

She sets the glass down next to the lamp on the nightstand, understanding.  Realizing.

“I _want_ to feel you.”  Her fingers reach for his again, tracing over the top of his hand.  “Not for you to close yourself off.  I feel _safe_ with you.”

His eyes close, and there’s sadness there, but also relief.

“Phil,” she says, stepping closer to him, and his eyes slowly open when she brushes her thumb against his cheek.  “It’s not a weakness.”

He pulls her one-handed into a tight hug.

She hugs back, and then takes his hand again, leading him with her towards the bed.

“Do you trust me?”  He nods. “Sit.”

He does, on the edge, looking up at her.  So nervous, all that energy moving through him.

She puts her hands on his shoulders, and then swings her leg over his, straddling his lap as his whole body tenses, and then she focuses.

Moving around the vibrations she’s feeling, stilling them, working through it, until he lets out a huge sigh that sounds more like a sob and presses his forehead against her shoulder.

“Better?” she asks, feeling him nod immediately.  

His hand comes to rest on top of her leg, and she moves her hands up from his shoulders until they're around his face.

She waits until his eyes open, and they look at each other, seeing so many things there that they've put aside.

Waiting. 

She leans forward and kisses him experimentally.  He lets her, getting very still as her mouth moves over his, planting tender little kisses on his bottom lip.

“Should I stop?” she asks him, opening her eyes a moment later when she feels him touching her face.

“No,” he says, brushing his fingers through her hair. “Don’t.”

He draws her face towards his again and kisses her, more eagerly and open-mouthed and she tightens her hand in his hair and feels him groan against her lips.

With her hand twisted in his sweatshirt, she leans him back against the bed follows him without breaking the contact between them.

Whatever this is, she can feel it and doesn’t try to shut it down. Not like in the past when it felt too raw. She kisses him, hungry, pressing him down into the mattress, sliding her fingers beneath the edge of his t-shirt, wanting to feel his body against her skin.

“Tell me this isn’t too much,” she says, stopping for a moment to check herself.  She's different now, and isn't sure if her powers are affecting him or if it's just her.

“I’m in love with you.”

Then his mouth is on her neck, her chin, her ear, as she closes her eyes and brushes a line of hair that starts at his stomach.

“Tell me again,” she says, pulling on the drawstring of his sweatpants.

“I love you,” he says, finding her mouth again, parting her lips with his tongue.

Her hand finds his cock beneath the layers of fabric, and he makes a desperate choking sound as she presses her tongue against his as she strokes him.

“Mmm,” he hums into her mouth and puts his hand over hers and slows her movements down.  “Like that.”

She feels his hand at the waistband of her shorts, and then his fingers between her thighs, making careful circles, as he stops kissing her to watch, like he's doing something impossible, and then so deliberate.

When he pushes a finger inside of her, she stops and lets go of him, sliding the shorts down with her underwear, kicking them away.

The tank top is next, coming over her head, and he caresses her lightly, with his hand on her breast, her stomach, his other arm coming up beside her hip.

She touches him there, above the band where the prosthesis connects, running her fingers along the muscles of his arm, up under the t-shirt to his shoulder.

“Take it off.”

He hesitates for a moment, and then arches his back and tugs it up over his head, shoves it away, as she looks at his scar and then draws her fingers across it, while pulling down his sweatpants to expose his hip with the other.

“Those too.”

His hips lift off the bed and he slides the pants down as far as he can on his own.

She leans over him, biting her lower lip, fingers touching his scar again.

“I need you,” she says against his mouth. “This feels so good, and it never happens like-”

He puts his hand on her hip, and pulls her down towards him as he raises up towards her, holding his breath when his cock slips along her wetness, until they get lost in giving each other wet kisses.

His eyes flick back up to hers and holds them as she takes him in her hand and lowers herself down onto him slowly, as he fills her.

“Phil,” she groans, as he pulls out of her slowly then pushes back in, bracing herself on his shoulders as he fucks her from underneath, then turns them sideways on the bed.

The angle changes and it’s good, even better. He starts to move faster, bringing her leg up to wrap over his hip.

He says her name like it means something different each time he pushes inside her, until she turns liquid against him when they come together. She can feel it for both of them.

It's not too much.  His breath is against her cheek as his face comes to rest against hers.

He pushes a few sweaty strands of hair off her forehead and kisses her there.

“It’s not a weakness.”

“No," she sighs with a smile.

 

 

When he wakes up, she's not there, and he looks up and sees her in the kitchenette.

There are smells.  Burning smells.

"What are you making?" he asks, as he turns towards her.

She's wearing his t-shirt from the night before, and is very focused.

"Breakfast," she tells him. "At least I'm trying.  I think I got the pan too hot."

Like she's apologizing for that.

He pulls the covers down and looks at the prosthetic on the table.

"Can I help?"

She watches him snap the hand in place, and then pull on his sweatpants.

"Pancakes," she tells him. "It's all I could find."

He wraps his arms around her, and kisses her shoulder then turns the heat down a little more on the burner.

"It's perfect."

 

 


End file.
